


Apples and Cinnamon

by Jaelijn



Series: Profound Bond Ficlets [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Croatoan/Endverse, Angst, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-02
Updated: 2015-03-02
Packaged: 2018-03-16 01:49:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3469931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaelijn/pseuds/Jaelijn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was an insane idea. Maybe even a dangerous idea, depending on your point of view, and perhaps Cas’s was a bit lopsided. There was no telling what would set Dean off these days, after all, not after weeks of figurative, if not literal, hell. </p><p>Still, Cas was determined that the date should not go unmarked.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Apples and Cinnamon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [supernaturalis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/supernaturalis/gifts).



> For supernaturalis, because its her birthday, and she loves endverse. Happy Birthday! I hope you like this, and, uh, sorry about the angst?

It was an insane idea. Maybe even a dangerous idea, depending on your point of view, and perhaps Cas’s was a bit lopsided. There was no telling what would set Dean off these days, after all, not after weeks of figurative, if not literal, hell.

Still, Cas was determined that the date should not go unmarked. He’d even double checked with Chuck, because he was the one keeping track of such things, that it was actually the correct date. Cas had not really been paying attention, admittedly, apart from the fact that it was winter, and freezing cold. There was only so much they could do about that. The cabins didn’t have fireplaces originally installed, and even though they’d replaced the microwaves and other electronic cooking equipment with wood-fuelled stoves ages ago, their supply of fuel wasn’t unlimited. Firewood had to be used to cooking, and nothing else. That meant that if Cas didn’t want to freeze to death, he had to either be around someone who was preparing food, or be the one to do it – and that was what had given him the idea.

“Can you bake pie on this thing?” he’d asked Rita, who was cooking up porridge for the entire camp. She had looked at him oddly, but Cas couldn’t remember her ever looking at him any other way. She had never been… inclined to join his sessions, not that they were as frequent as everyone seemed to assume. At the very least, they didn’t always end with sex. That was for special occasions only. This was a special occasion of another sort, but depending on Dean’s reaction, it might just end in the same way – one way or another, Cas might find himself in a situation where he would need to let off some steam.

For now, he was sober – to a degree, at least – and staring at the stove as if it were to have an answer for him. He didn’t stare at people that weren’t Dean, not anymore. It only made them feel even less real.

“I suppose,” Rita said, at length, perhaps after deciding that he wouldn’t go away until he had his answer. She really didn’t like him very much. “It’s not very nutritious, though, so I wouldn’t bother with it. You’ll never get the ingredients for sweets out of Chuck.”

Cas wasn’t worried about the nutritional value. Dean’s diet _before_ hadn't struck him as particularly healthy, and he was fairly certain that the way in which Dean now inhaled anything you put in front of him and washed it down with large quantities of alcohol wasn’t either. Eating was a chore, not an enjoyment. To Cas, it was just a reminder of how far he had fallen. However, Rita had a point. Food was strictly rationed, and at this time of the year more than at any other.

So he went to have a chat with Johnny, the gentle young man with whom he shared the night shift at the gatehouse. Johnny was there because he couldn’t fight. Cas was there because he hadn’t been able to walk for three months after breaking his foot, and the shift had sort of stuck afterwards. Of course, that didn’t excuse him from any mission Dean wanted to go on during the day.

“You want to do _what_?”

“Make pie.” Somehow, even pie had become an outlandish concept. Cas decided not to pursue that train of thought further and instead swallowed… something. Painkillers, probably. He’d refilled the bottle that morning but he hadn’t really fancied sticking around sorting through his stash while his breath was freezing before his face.

“ _Why?_ ”

Cas lifted his eyebrows. “Do I need a reason?”

“Guess not.” Johnny was eying the pill bottle.

Cas pulled another one out and passed it to him. “I’m going out tonight.”

“I won’t have seen anything. Though, mate, if you don’t come back, that’s not on me.”

Cas would never understand the human obsession with absolution even at this time. Clearly, Heaven didn’t give a fuck. Still, he grinned and said: “Of course not.”

 

It really was an insane idea. It wasn’t that Cas was scared, he really wasn’t. If he’d been scared, he’d have stopped his self-destruction by now. No, it all seemed just a touch pointless. At least, this gave him a mission, even if it was an inane one. In the end, it was surprisingly easy. They’d never been able to figure out if Croats slept – some of their night raids had been their most disastrous – but nothing stopped Cas that night. He even managed to grab some extra stuff for Johnny, and a few things that Chuck was constantly worrying about, even if he’d had to drive half the night to get there.

Actually baking the pie was… trickier. The fact that he’d been more or less sober for the last day or two wasn’t exactly helping either. There were thoughts constantly intruding – unpleasant thoughts, memories, sensations. It was easier to just focus on Dean, even though those memories weren’t entirely without pain, either. At the very least, the pie smelled fine, and when Cas broke off a tiny bit of the crust, it tasted fine, as well. Of course, he’d pretty much ruined his sense of taste (it had all been so much, too much), but it wasn’t his to eat, anyway.

He’d thought long and hard about how he was going to approach Dean on the car ride. Had fantasized about inviting Dean into his cabin to present him with the pie, decorated with candles, and nice plates to eat it from. There were no candles, nor plates, nor was Dean in the habit of responding to Cas’s summons. So, instead, at the break of dawn he made his way through the snow and the sleet to Dean’s cabin, carefully cradling the steaming pie. Dean was sure to be awake – he barely slept more than two or three hours at night, and even though Cas pretended he didn’t, he could hear him screaming with nightmares from next door.

Normally, he wouldn’t bother knocking but today, he did.

It was a while before Dean responded, a chair scraping back across the floor, the rustling of blankets. Dean had candles so he could work even in the wintery twilight, but they only did so much for warmth. He looked tired, stiff, angry, and of course he had completely forgotten.

“Cas? What the hell?”

Cas tried to summon up his usual grin, but somehow, it came out as a genuine smile, instead. “Happy Birthday.” He held up the pie, its aroma slowly rising in white steam between them. It was nothing fancy, only ready-made tinned apple filling and a basic pie crust, but it was something.

Dean’s expression remained shuttered, but he stepped aside and allowed Cas to enter, giving another glance across the grounds before he shut the door. It was actually quite warm inside, at least compared to Cas’s own absolutely freezing dwellings, where the smell of incense hung cloyingly in the air. Cas put the pie down on the desk, stepping away from it. He couldn’t look at Dean. Instead, he began to stroll around the cabin as if he’d not been here a hundred, a thousand times already. “You should eat. It’s going cold.”

“You better haven’t wasted any resources on that,” Dean groused.

Normally, Cas would have had some pithy retort at hand, but today was different. This moment was different. Maybe, if Dean let him, they could, just for a second, pretend everything was like _before_. “I didn’t,” he said simply, shrugging, and turned to face Dean.

Dean immediately busied himself with the pie, lifting out one of the slices Cas had cut back in the kitchen. He blew on it, then took the smallest of bites. Dean was the only person Cas still stared at, but normally, it was through a haze of drugs to dull the pain and disassociation. Now, for the first time in a long time, he was actually watching Dean’s expression, mapping every twist of muscle, every little wrinkle.

There was surprise, genuine surprise, after the first little nibble, and Dean immediately went for a larger bite, his eyes closing as he chewed. Enjoyment, contentment. Some of the tension draining out of his frame. For a moment, he looked like the old Dean, and for a moment, Cas imagined he could see his soul, always burning bright, soar with joy. He could no longer really see Dean’s soul, nor was the enjoyment anything like the rapture Dean had seemed to feel when a rock song was blasting from the Impala’s radio, but it was there, it was something.

“Well?”

“’s awesome,” Dean mumbled around a bite, and took a second slice.

Cas was content to just watch, though he closed a bit of a distance and leant against Dean’s working desk, where the candles were providing a little warmth. He could see his and Dean’s breath, the steam from the pie. Could smell the candle wax and the apple and cinnamon flavour of the Dean’s birthday present. For a moment, he closed his eyes, willing away the tears. _If only…_

“Cas. Hey.” Suddenly, Dean was before him, and there was a hand against his cheekbone, Dean’s thumb swiping away a single tear that had escaped. For so long, they hadn’t looked each other in the eyes without also fighting. Maybe this was a dream. Maybe he had died on this foolhardy errand. It didn’t matter.

Cas didn’t move, leaning only slightly into Dean’s touch, and tried to see the soul behind the pained green eyes. “Happy Birthday.”

“You’ve said that,” Dean said, the corners of his mouth twitching. Cas stared at the movement, mesmerized. Dean hadn’t smiled for a very long time. He wasn’t smiling now, either, but he looked less angry. Less broken.

“Yes.”

“Thanks for the pie, Cas.”

“You’re welcome, fearless leader.” It wasn’t an insult. Not this time. Cas swallowed. Dean’s hand still hadn’t moved. “You… you can have another present, too. If you like.”

Dean dropped his gaze, and his hand, though not farther than Cas’s shoulder. “Cas…”

Cas reached out, afraid that this Dean might vanish – a hallucination, a mirage. “Dean…” He hadn’t spoken the name in such a long time.

Dean’s eyes snapped up, and then they were kissing. It was soft, tentative. They were both afraid the moment would break. It tasted of apple and cinnamon. It made Cas forget. It made Dean forget, too, he thought. His eyes were the colour of evergreens.

They were both breathless when they broke apart, their foreheads still resting together, but Dean’s grip on Cas’s neck was becoming stiff, painful. Cas pulled away, moved to the door. Each step hurt, but he only had a few to go to his cabin, and his stash. In the doorframe, he stopped, tasting pie he hadn’t eaten on his bottom lip.

“Enjoy the pie,” he said, too loudly. Then, he stepped back out into the cold.


End file.
